


The One Safe Place to Come to

by TheStrangeSeaWolf



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (although it is STILL a stupid ship name), (in the same bed - no smut), Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, POV Clara Oswin Oswald, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleeping Together, Whumptober 2019, fear of being left alone, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrangeSeaWolf/pseuds/TheStrangeSeaWolf
Summary: After the events on Perinathos described in "Torture" the Doctor flees to the only safe place in space that isn't the TARDIS - the flat of a certain schoolteacher in London.





	The One Safe Place to Come to

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a missing scene in the ["Darkness and Light"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1489118) series. It is mentioned in ["Torture"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21070190), but I thought I could write it out.  
I'm kind of drawn to hurt/comfort settings, guess you have to deal with that. :)  
BTW I just found out that this totally qualifies for #Whumptober2019 No.24 "Secret Injury".

It had been a long day. Parent-teacher conference. She hated those meetings as they had a tendency to occupy a whole evening with needless discussions. She was glad she was finally home. When she opened the door, she realized she couldn’t push it completely open. Of course. The stupid Doctor had parked the TARDIS in the passage again. Granted, after she banned him from landing in her bedroom – he still seemed unable to grasp the concept of a room just for sleeping and the concept of privacy in general – there were not too many landing spaces in her small flat.

“Doctor, what are you doing here? It’s late and it’s not even Wednesday.” She shouted as she entered the living room.

He lay stretched on her sofa, which was odd. Usually when she found him in her flat, he would either eat something, preferably from her secret cookies stash, or tinker with something he thought needed fixing. She had probably the only voice-controlled toaster that burnt Gallifreyan blessings into the bread, which was utterly useless but still somehow sweet.

“Got myself into a pub fight on New Caledonia 2.” He answered and raised his left hand. As she looked closer the hand was bandaged. She groaned.

“Sounds stupid. What was it about? Who sang the best version of ‘Hallelujah’ – again?”

She remembered the last time in a pub on New Caledonia 2. The Doctor got himself into a heated debate on the subject while she had eaten her haggis. The bloke he argued with had made the point that it was astounding that someone with such a bad taste in music had such a beautiful girlfriend. Then he made the mistake of groping her. Before she could react, the Doctor had grabbed the bloke’s hand and sent him flying through half the pub. The drunk inhabitants took it as a welcoming starting signal for a considerable brawl. Amidst of it she had managed to grab a furious Doctor by the scruff of his neck and drag him away from the drunk groper and out of the pub.

“No, not quite. But nothing important, anyway.”

She heard him answer. Seems he didn’t want to tell, and she didn’t want to find out. She really hoped they were not banned from New Caledonia 2 permanently now. While she would never again eat haggis there, it was still a beautiful landscape with lilac meadows, green sheep and endless black sand beaches.

“Fine”, she replied as she took off her shoes and went to the kitchen, “don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Tea?”

“Tea sounds good.”

She expected him to come after her as he usually did, talking about planets he visited or planned to visit with her. And, of course, rummaging around for something to eat. But he didn’t show up. When she finally returned with tea and some of his favorite cookies he sat upright on the sofa.

She sat next to him, pouring tea in both cups and helped herself to a cookie. He reached for his cup and when he picked it up, she saw his hand was trembling.

For the first time she took a closer look at him. He seemed strained. He looked tired and paler than usual. He looked up and met her gaze. There was an insecure flickering in his eyes. That look, it was as if someone had pushed a burning dagger into her heart. This wasn’t the look of her proud, reckless, fearless, curious, confident best friend. It was the look of a wounded animal on the flight.

“What happened, Doctor?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Nonsense, Doctor, you look like hell and your hands are trembling and what worries me most is that you didn’t say more than a few words since I came in. It is obvious that something is very, very wrong with you. What happened? What was the fight about? What happened to your hand?”

He just shook his head and moved to the corner of the sofa, as far as possible away from her. Now, this was really strange. Sure, he was not a hugging person in this incarnation, but he usually sought her vicinity, maybe not consciously, but by instinct. Whatever had happened, it had disturbed him deeply.

She had enough experience with disturbed and traumatized children to know that with a reaction that strong, she needed to tread softly. 

“Okay, Doctor, you don’t have to tell me. How about some brainless TV instead?”

He nodded. She put on the channel with old Star Trek episodes. It never failed. Halfway through the first episode the Doctor relaxed noticeably. After the second they sat shoulder to shoulder, feet on the side table, commenting on unrealistic scenes, like they always did when they decided they could do with some science fiction crap after their adventures.

She got up to fetch some more tea and snacks from the kitchen. Her glance fell to his hand. The bandage looked ragged.

“That bandage looks a few days old. Shall I change it, since you are here?” she tried to say it as lightheartedly as possible.

“Don’t trouble yourself, I’m fine.”

“No trouble at all. With quite a few rowdies in my year seven class I do have some experience. And it’s always a mess when you try to do it yourself.” She suspected that the bandage looked like this because the Doctor had tried to bandage himself instead of asking for help. He looked up at her and she saw the unsteady look in those blue-grey eyes. She sensed his wish to be looked after was battling with his pride. She got an idea.

“Ah, come on. If I were hurt would you want me to tend to it myself?”

“Probably not.” He admitted quietly. He was indeed acting like an overprotecting mother when she was hurt, so she got him there.

She went to the TARDIS that already had set Vastra’s ointment and sterile bandages on a table. The old girl was completely compliant when it came to the health of her thief.

A few moments later she sat in a chair next to the sofa and unwrapped the Doctor’s hand. She gasped at the sight of the injuries. She was accustomed to the fast-healing treatments of the TARDIS so she expected to find only minor scars that were already on the mend. Instead the hand looked like a jigsaw of flesh and skin that were patched together to something that resembled a human hand. She looked up to the Doctor who averted her gaze. She gulped.

“What happened to that hand?” She said as she carefully examined it. “This doesn’t look like a boxing injury.”

“Nothing,” the timelord uttered.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Can you move your fingers?”

The jigsaw of a hand clenched itself to a fist and uncurled again, but she realized it was done with a considerable amount of willpower and it caused him pain.

“Okay, okay, no worries,” she heard herself say, although she was deeply worried. “I just fetch something to clean it a bit before I apply the ointment.

She fetched a bowl with warm water, a cloth and a towel. She carefully started cleaning the hand. He flinched a few times but tried to keep it steady. Then, she padded it dry, trying hard not to cause more pain than necessary. She took the ointment jar and looked at it.

“It seems Victorian. Have you visited the Paternoster Gang?”

“Yes. Greetings from Strax and Jenny. Madame Vastra says you should give me hell.”

He gave her a slight smile and she smiled back.

“I see someone patched you back together professionally. Glad they were around to look after you. Seems I don’t have a chance to get you to choke out what happened, do I?”

She looked at him questioning. He shook his head. She gave him an eyeroll that provoked a tender smile from her companion.

“Okay, so, this might hurt a little, but I try to be careful.”

She started to spread some of the jar's contents over the wounds. He kept his hand still and when she looked up at him, she caught him looking down at her with an expression of utmost affection. That look hit her deep inside. It was the look she only saw on very rare occasions. When she escaped death at hair’s breadth or when she was hurt. She wondered if he looked at her like this on other occasions, too and she had just missed it until now.

After she made sure that the hand was covered with the ointment, she put the bandage on.

“You will see, it will be fine in no time.”

She said and before she could stop herself, she placed a kiss on the damaged hand.

“Thank you.”

His voice sounded hoarse. Obviously, whatever had happened had affected him deeply. His usually rude self would never say ‘thank you’, no matter how appropriate it would be. She was dying to know what had happened, but he made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“No need to thank me, I’m your carer.” She smiled at him. There was a hint of a smile on his face and his eyes glistered suspiciously below the wild eyebrows. She felt she was tired, but she didn’t want to send him off in his disturbed and injured state. She yawned.

“Listen, I’m tired and I need to go to work tomorrow. And you look tired, too. How about you sleep here on the sofa. And don’t tell me some superior timelords crap about how you don’t need sleep. You were badly injured, and your body needs a rest.”

He looked undecided. She was rather sure his pride tried to convince him it was better, more timelord-y to leave in his TARDIS. She got an idea.

“I only have to be at Coal Hill at half past nine tomorrow, so we can have an extensive breakfast in the morning, bacon, scrambled eggs and all. How does that sound?”

He nodded eagerly. She let out a sigh of relief. The prospect of food somehow never failed with this incarnation.

She got him an additional pillow and a blanket before she left for her bedroom.

“Good night, Doctor.”

“Goodnight, sleep well, Clara.”

It came back in a low voice.

“Clara!”

She woke up. The Doctor was screaming.

“Clara, nooooo…”

She was out of bed in an instant, scooting to the living room. The Doctor was covered in sweat, tossing and turning on the sofa, at risk of dropping to the floor. She took him by his shoulders, shaking him.

“Wake up, Doctor, wake up, you are dreaming.”

His eyes flung open, pupils wide with horror and fear.

“It’s alright, Doctor. You are in my flat. You are safe.”

He sat upright grabbing her arms, letting his hands glide down taking her hands in his, inspecting them closely.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Please, tell me, they didn’t hurt you.”

“No, nobody hurt me. It was just a nightmare.” 

“You are alright? Are you sure you are alright?”

In a gesture totally out of character for him he let his hands wander to her hips, gently rubbing them with his thumbs. He looked up to her and she met his eyes. They were still wide with horror. Sweat glistering on his forehead, even moistening his eyebrows. She couldn’t help it but wrap him in her arms.

“No, really, everything is fine. It was just a nightmare, Doctor, just a nightmare.”

She held his head to her body for a while, stroking his hair. Then she gently rubbed his back. He hissed in pain. She took a step back.

“What’s the matter, Doctor?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Hey, I’m not dumb. What’s the matter with your back?”

Only now she realized that there was a bandage beneath the Doctor’s t-shirt.

“You didn’t tell me that there is more wounded than just the hand. Come on, let me look after it. Take that shirt off.”

He shook his head.

“Doctor, do as you are told!”

He followed her order reluctantly. She wasn’t sure if he was so reluctant because he was generally coy in this incarnation or if it was because it hurt. Basically, his whole torso was bandaged. She hadn’t realized it earlier because he had worn his hoodie the whole evening.

“Doctor, I will need to take the bandage off to have a look. I will take a scissor to remove the bandage so it will be off fast, but it might still hurt. And I need you to stand up so I can do it. Okay?”

He averted her eyes and looked uncomfortable and ashamed. She went to get a scissor which also gave him the personal space to get up without her watching. When she came back, he stood upright. Standing behind him, she cut the whole length of the bandage and then removed it as fast and careful as possible. She gasped at the sight.

The hand might have looked like a jigsaw, but the back was worse. It looked like a mad embroiderer had acted out on it. Only parts of it seemed to be the original skin, most parts were artificial skin transplant she knew from New New York Hospital. Some of the sutures were red and angry, probably because they weren’t treated with an antiseptic regularly.

She felt tears welling up. She didn’t want to think about what had caused such severe injuries. And she could only begin to understand how much his back must have hurt the whole time he sat with his back against the sofa. That stupid idiot! Why hadn’t he said something?

Then she thought about his odd behavior and the scared look in his eyes when she found him. Whatever he had gone through had traumatized him. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about what had happened and looking at the mangled state of his back this was understandable. And, of all the places he could flee to when something bad had happened he chose her vicinity. It was definitely not her part to scold him.

Slowly she took his healthy hand and made him turn around.

“Doctor, your back looks terrible and I have to treat it, but I fear the sofa is too narrow to do that. We need to use my bed.”

He gave her a look that was confused, scared and embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, nothing bad is going to happen. I just need the space and it’s more comfortable for both of us. No need to get a sepsis or something just because you are a little uptight in this incarnation, right?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. He looked so uncomfortable she decided she needed to take the lead. She grabbed his hand and led him to her bedroom. There she folded back the duvet and fluffed up the pillow.

“You lie there, face down and leave some space so I can kneel beside you.”

She instructed. Tending to a wounded timelord had much in common with tending to a child she thought. He followed her orders, crossing his arms before his face and resting his head on them. She got a bowl with warm water and the ointment.

“Better rest your head on the pillow, not your arms. This will take a while and it might get uncomfortable otherwise.”

He did as he was told, tightly grabbing the pillow, resting his head sideways. Carefully she began to clean the wounds on his back. The Doctor winced every now and then when she hit a particular sore spot.

“What did they do to you?”

It was more of a musing than a question. He sighed but didn’t say anything. She thought back on how he screamed when he had the nightmare and his fear that ‘they’ had done something to her. She wondered who ‘they’ were. It didn’t look as if his back was burned or scraped. It was more like something had ripped the skin into pieces.

“It nearly looks as if you were brutally whipped.” She blurted before she could stop herself. She noticed an ever so slight nod from him. More than once, she added in her thoughts. Much more often than once.

After the cleaning was done, she applied the ointment. Again, he flinched at a few spots but generally relaxed under her soft strokes.

As his skin heated a little from her touch, she suddenly had a strange feeling. It was as if something tried to enter her brain. She took her hands from his back and the feeling was gone. She put them back and continued rubbing, the feeling returned. She tried to figure out what it was. She felt that a thought was forming in her mind, but it was rather blurred. She closed her eyes and concentrated on it while she kept on stroking the timelord’s back. Words. The same words over and over again. She focused some more. A plead. A desperate plead.

_Please, don’t leave me. Clara, don’t leave me alone. Please don’t leave me. Clara,… _

She opened her eyes again and looked down at the silver curls and saw that her companion had closed his eyes as if in pain. It wasn’t physical pain; it was emotional pain. There was no ointment for that. But now that she knew it, she could probably do something about it.

“Stay like you are now. Let the ointment soak in. I just put the bowl away and be back immediately.”

She came back. The TARDIS had provided a self-adherend dressing, which she applied carefully on the Doctor’s wounds. Then, she reached for a light blanket that wouldn’t apply too much pressure on the wounds but would still keep him warm. Finally, she lowered herself next to the timelord, her head resting on her arm. She reached out and softly stroked his head.

“Everything will be alright. You are safe here and I won’t go anywhere. And if you ever want to talk about it, I will listen.”

A deep sigh.

“You care for me.”

It was only a hoarse whisper.

“Of course, I care for you. I don’t have any less a duty of care towards you than you have towards me, don’t you know that, daft old man?”

She placed a chaste kiss on his head. Then, she lowered her head on a second pillow next to him and wrapped herself in the duvet. Once again, she stroked his head.

“Just sleep, Doctor. No more nightmares. I’m here with you and I won’t leave you alone. I’m here, right at your side and you can reach out whenever you feel like it. Now let your body heal and sleep.”

He reached out with his bandaged hand and she tenderly took it into hers, carefully avoiding applying any pressure. He let out a deep sigh and she felt how he relaxed. After some time, he drifted off to sleep and she followed shortly afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> The original story mentiones that Clara only takes care of the injured hand and the Doctor stays on the sofa but I couldn't resist the urge to get them both into bed together again. Probably because I'm a terrible person. ;)


End file.
